A blanket of sadness has covered our family this year. Our village. Our world. And when sadness comes I want to run.
But this, what has happened recently,could break me. I know this. I am fully aware that this might all be too much.
So I texted my people and whispered “what if I break? What if this is all too much?”
And them, being the most life giving people I know said, you are not going to break. You are broken. You should be broken. But broken is beautiful. Broken can be put back together stronger than ever before. We will stay with you in the broken. We will stay until it doesn’t hurt anymore.
This is the thing. They know. They know everything. They know how many things hurt. They know all the shit that has gone on and the injustice of it all.
And still. Still they stay. They stay and wait until it doesn’t hurt anymore.
When I was younger, I remember finding my mom crying in the basement while she was ironing clothes. Standing over the ironing board with tears streaming down her face. I remember being so angry. So angry at who or whatever was hurting my mom. I know now. But then I really was more confused by the silent basement suffering.
She and I grew up in different times. Different ways of dealing with life. She grew up as a Dutch missionary kid. You worked hard, you went to church on Sunday and then you worked harder. You always brought the best casserole to the church function and you didn’t interfere with other people’s business. You perhaps had a handkerchief, but that was just to wipe your nose, not to show any public emotion other than happiness and lemon bars.
And then there was me. I was born with all the feelings all the time. Teachers in my younger years said I was “a lot to handle”. But then life happened and me being a lot to handle turned into too much. And somewhere along the way the girl that felt too much started to believe that she wasn’t enough. She needed to stop feeling.
So I did. If it was bad for you I used it. If it was good for you I used it more. Anything and anyone to make these feelings I didn’t know how to feel go away.
That is what we do when we are scared. We numb.
I made a very conscious decision for my family this summer. We were going to heal. And to heal, you need to feel.
We decided that in order to heal we made the painful decision to bring all the kids home from school. All of them.
Early on, someone asked me what I was going to teach them this year.
Healing. I am going to teach them to heal.
When trauma happens our natural instinct is fight or flight. As an addict I am usually in flight mode. But this time. This time in our lives we are choosing to stay.
To choose healing.
And healing looks different than school.
This does not mean that we are not doing anything but art, therapy, yoga and oils, but that is a huge part of it.
I need to walk beside them as they learn who they are and how all of this brokenness fits into their world. I want to teach the that their is no freedom in basement suffering. I need to breathe life and words of love into them as much as I can.
I need to stay until it doesn’t hurt anymore.